Golden Wood and Blood Red Velvet
by TheLadyLeFay
Summary: Morgana's obsession with the throne from the first time she sees it to the end of season 4. Slight Arthur/Morgana view how you like .


**Golden Wood and Blood Red Velvet**

The first time she sees it she's only ten. She's only been at the castle a few days, and has spent the entire time huddled away in her room. Arthur is fed up with his father's new ward's sulking, and drags her out.

"Trust me, you'll like this!"

She has no idea what is that makes her believe him, but she follows him anyways.

They hurry down the hall, the golden haired boy and dark haired girl. They move past servants rushing by, before they finally stop in front of two big giant wooden doors. Arthur looks around to make sure the coast is clear, before flashing her a cheeky grin.

There is a thrill she hasn't felt since her father's death, and an itch that makes her follow Arthur quickly through the door. But more than that there is a humming, and it's filling her ears.

And then there it is. In the middle of the room, it's shadow covering the floor. It's all she can do to stand and stare.

"See. I told you," Arthur says proudly, pleased he's finally impressed her.

She doesn't say anything, but the humming in her ear pulls her closer and closer till she is standing inches away from it, yet still unable to touch it.

"That's where my father sits. He says it will be mine when I'm older. Made for a King."

The humming is so loud she hears none of his words but the last one.

"Or a queen," she whispers, finally reaching her hand out to trace the golden wood in its ornate swirls. The humming has stopped now, replaced by a soft sound much like the cats used to make when she pet them. The red velvet is soft and luxurious, slowly enticing her to sit in it; but no, not yet. A King or a Queen. Not a ward.

Arthur suddenly seems to make up his mind, and states rather matter-of-factly, "You'll sit in a matching chair beside me on the right."

She pulls her gaze away and instead fixes her eyes on the young prince. "And why's that?'

"Well my mother had one just the same… or so the say. So you'll have one too." The boy has already made up his mind that they'd always be together. It isn't a question.

She smiles, her first genuine one since she arrived in Camelot.

There are footsteps outside and the two children look at each other in a way only two people about to get caught can understand.

He grabs her hand and pulls her quickly out of the room behind him, and their laughter fills the air mingling together.

It's not loud enough to replace the shrill scream that rips through her ears as she leaves the golden wood and deep red velvet.

…

It's beside her for years; so close but never as close as it was that first time she saw it. Uther sits in it; his legs sprawled out, comfortable in the knowledge that it is his and his alone. It's the beginning of her hate, though she doesn't realize it at first. She wants to shove him out of it, protect it from him. He doesn't deserve it; he doesn't hear it like she does.

But instead she sits quietly beside him in her mock wooden chair, and smiles, the perfect king's ward.

…

It remains in her thoughts that year she is with Morgause. Every time she imagines her _precious_ guardian, she sees him in it. It helps fuel the hate. It helps remind her why she must do what she must do.

One day when she's walking barefoot through the trees, a question filters through her mind: "Does Arthur here it?"

She doesn't want to think about him, her childhood companion through the prison Uther built around her. Morgause reminds her not to think of them, that her life was a lie. But now that the name has crossed her mind, she can't get it out.

She's never seen him sit in it, and deep within her she knows if he had he would tell her. She's watched the ways his eyes rest on it, when his father is not in the room, or when his future is mentioned. But the same words that repeat in her mind must play in his – not yet. The two always understood each other better than anyone else. They were both waiting.

But does he feel the same way as her? Does he hear the ever constant humming in his ears? Feel the soft vibrating in his veins? Does it call to him the way it does to her?

She pushes the thoughts away, and turns to make her way back to Morgause. It should be hers. It's meant to be hers.

…

He's standing in front of it when she first sees him again, after a year has gone by. She reminds herself that it is _him_ she is happy to see. _Him_ who she has missed. _Him _who she loves like a father. Morgause has drilled this lie into her many times.

But her eyes are drawn to it immediately. The humming is louder than she remembered, and sweeter to. It calls of the promises she is about to bring, the future that is to come. It pulls her closer, begging her to come to it.

But no, she can't.

She hugs her guardian, and smiles adoringly up at him as she collects his tears.

She forces herself to turn away from it as she leaves, smirking in triumph.

It will only be a few days, and then Camelot will be theirs. Only a little while longer, and then it will be hers.

…

It's chipping at her slowly day and night, as she is forced to sit beside that monster as he touches it. Their plans were thwarted and she blames Merlin for it all. If it weren't for him, it would be hers now.

But there is little she can do, as one by one, her and Morgause's plans fall apart. "I'm trying," she mentally insists, but it wants her to try harder.

The final crack is when she hears Uther speak.

"Morgana is my daughter."

Memories that never quite make sense come into focus, feelings and thoughts of Arthur become wrong, flashes of her father (for that is who Gorlois will always be) and her mother are misconstrued. And in the center of this chaos, it lets out a scream.

…

Finally, after all this time, she has won. She didn't think anything would give her more pleasure than the pain on Uther's face when she repeats those painful words.

"I am your daughter after all."

But there is something that gives her an even greater thrill, something that fills her soul more than she ever thought – It is finally hers.

The crown confirms it, as her name is turned from one she loved into something she hates – Morgana Pendragon.

But it's worth it to finally have it be hers.

The humming rests around her, like a cloak of power. It comforts her, thanks her for its release. Her hands fit perfectly around the golden carved swirls she outlined so many years ago, back when she didn't understand, but understood enough to know this was where she belonged.

She didn't want an identical one; she wanted this. And now it was hers.

She'd soothe its pains. Bandage its cuts. Where the gold had faded she'd make anew, a gleaming beacon of hope. She'd keep it safe from would be usurpers, and treasure it like it deserved.

It is finally hers, and her lips curve up in a smile the same blood red shade in which she sits.

A Queen.

…

She treasures it, keeping it safe from the outside. When the traitorous Leon comes into the courtroom, she uses the old wooden one instead. This chair doesn't compare to it at all, but there is no way she is letting an enemy near it again.

But when the rooms are emptied she goes back to it – always back to it.

…

Oh how's she's missed it. So many years sine she last saw it, but she's never forgotten it. There's a reason she sends everyone else away, when she walks through those great double doors. There it is. Sitting exactly where she left it, enough sunlight pouring through the windows that though the room is dark, it still retains its shadow.

Everything about the room is lacking color. If she didn't know better she'd suspect that before fleeing Arthur had commanded his knights to strip the room bare.

But its reds and golds are still as vibrant as ever, still as hypnotizing as she recalls.

She can only imagine the suffering it's undergone while she's been gone, but now she's back and she'll make everything right.

She lounges back, leaning slightly towards the right, feeling the wood and cushions she hasn't felt for so long. This is where she belongs.

Helios strides in through the door. 'The city has fallen. Camelot is ours." He seems so proud, as if he's actually accomplished something. If she remembered how to laugh, she would.

"And?" she says flicking her hand lazily.

Helios gives her a look, and she sighs exasperated, finally detaching herself from what she has desired for so long.

"Taking Camelot was the easy part, Helios." Her words turn cold as she remembers another who just recently sat where she was sitting. "I want Arthur. Where is he?"

Helios is quick to reassure her. "He's right here, my lady." No she is a queen again, she'll have to make sure they all remember that. "He's no where left to run."

A triumphant smile spreads across her face, not quite reaching her eyes.

She strides out, her head held high.

It's only after she's left the room that she realizes there was no humming.

…

It's rejected her. It doesn't want her. After all those years of it calling to her for help, now that she's here to give it, it's turning on her. Like everything and everyone else, it's abandoned her.

She's too emotionally far-gone to shout, or scream. To hit it and knock it over, or even just to cry.

She sits curled up in it, waiting for it to welcome her home, for it to want her, to need her, to accept her.

It's rejected her. She's not its queen.

Tracing her fingers in the ornate wood pattern amidst the silence, she notices that the scars are being repaired. The gold has become brighter since she last left, the cracks less deep, the red a richer color. It's starting to heal without her.

Once, a little golden haired boy dragged her out of her room and into this very same one. He made her smile when she didn't want to, and brought that smile many times after. There was no humming, no vibrating or throbbing until he grabbed her hand and brought her here.

A little boy who promised her a matching one that would be placed on right beside his.

He'd healed her then, and now he was healing it. He'd understood it all along.

She orders Helios to replace it with the hard dark brown wooden one.

…

She doesn't let it change anything. Why should it? It was just some old wood and some cushions.

Her new one is cold, cold and unfriendly. It suits her perfectly.

She curls up in this one, the same as she would have done had it not abandoned her. This one is hers, but it means nothing. She'd used this one before, back when she was still protecting it. But this one hasn't changed with her absence.

She'll lounge in this one relishing the power it seems to bestow upon her, not caring for a crown to prove it. When did a crown ever mean anything?

She strokes this new one, rests her head on it, practically begging the hard wood to change to soft gold and luscious red.

But it doesn't change.

It doesn't want her any more. It doesn't matter. She turned her heart to steal a long time ago, and even this won't change it back.

When they all come in – Arthur, Merlin, Guinevere and the two she doesn't know – she's not surprised. She always expected it. They want her gone. It wants her gone.

But though all the humming and vibrating, there have been two words that have always controlled her more.

Keep fighting.

* * *

**Author's Note: Okay I hope you all like this! I just got the idea in my head and _had_ to sit down and write the entire thing! To all of you waiting for an update for Camelot's Princess, I'm working on it but my life is crazy! So I guess this is my present until I get back to it. As always please review! Xx**


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